Even as he had clung to the window for that last
moment it had occurred to him that it would be folly to return to the
Frenchman. Meleese had promised to come to him, and he believed her, and
for that reason Jean was no longer of use to him. Alone he would lose
himself in that wilderness, alone work his way into the South, trusting
to his revolver for food, and to his compass and the matches in his
pocket for life. There would be no sledge-trail for his enemies to
follow, no treachery to fear. It would take a thousand men to find him
after the night's storm had covered up his retreat, and if one should
find him they two would be alone to fight it out.
For a moment he stopped to listen and stare futilely into the blackness
behind him. When he turned to go on his heart stood still. A shadow had
loomed out of the night half a dozen paces ahead of him, and before he
could raise his revolver the shadow was lightened by a sharp flash of
fire. Howland staggered back, his fingers loosening their grip on his
pistol, and as he crumpled down into the snow he heard over him the
hoarse voice that had urged on the dog. After that there was a space of
silence, of black chaos in which he neither reasoned nor lived, and when
there came to him faintly the sound of other voices.
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